In Sickness, In Health
by Runa93
Summary: Holmes and Watson set out on a case aginst a famous Chicago bank robber. But this case turns out to be more dangerous then what they bargained for. How is it going to affect their relationship? i have a poll on my bioyou might want to check it out
1. Chapter 1

In Sickness, In Health

It was my fault. Completely mine. If I had not been so blind, so …._unobservant_ …Watson would not be in this state now.

T' was about a week back, when the Duchess came to us with a _plea_ to get those 'horrible, untruthful' letters that was in the possession of a 'horrible, untruthful' man. I never sully my hands with cases such as these but something about the woman (i.e. her boots were caked with dirt from the lowest part of London, where no self-respecting Duchess would ever go) interested me and I took her case.

I wish to God I hadn't.

I had noticed Watson's cold before the case, but the dear fellow had waved it off and I had taken no notice of the occasional sneezes and coughs later.

Oh, what a fool, what a thrice damned fool I was!

The case was as I suspected. The 'Duchess' was no other than Frank Rogers, also called ' Sly Rog' because of his five consecutive escapes from the Chicago authorities over the bank case. The letters he wished recover, far from being love letters, were rather incriminating in the way that they were sent from a bank official from the Royal bank to him.

Of course, from then, there was nothing to look for really. I only had to catch him at his worst; that could be easily arranged. Watson accompanied me to the old storehouse where the letters were kept. Even then, I have a vague remembrance of Watson's cough behind me.

When we entered the storehouse, for the first time in my life, to my absolute and incomparable horror and embarrassment, I found that I had miscalculated.

Rogers had reached before me with his entire group of men and within a few moments, seven or eight of them had surrounded Watson and me.

We stood back to back, as we had done so many times before, preparing to take down our adversaries. Even then, I am ashamed to say, I did not think of what this would do to Watson. I was too confident in my abilities. It could have cost me the dearest thing in the world.

Rogers himself came out from behind the crates, and to my utter disgust, he was wearing a look of triumph and contempt. Never a good combination in criminals.

"Found me out have yah, Masser Holmes?"

He was cocky and overconfident. I was sure he would fall quickly. Oh, what a fool I was not to be able to see that I was the same as him!

"You have overrated your skills, I am afraid, Rogers."

He leered at me and then slowly drew a gun and pointed it at me. I looked at him with no fear. I prided myself on escaping one of the greatest brains in the history of criminals. This was small fry.

But my confidence and arrogance blew to bits when I heard a gunshot and felt Watson collapse behind me.

I don't believe I had been more afraid, or more aware, of our situation then.

The bullet had hit his side, which had turned bright red. A color which I never noticed before, but which I felt slightly nauseous on seeing it on Watson.

He was in pain, I could see that. No matter how much he tried to reassure me, I could see the horrible haunting look still in his eyes. It pays me a visit in my nightmares still.

All of sudden, this whole expedition swung out of control. All my bravado drained out of me, when I realized what a situation I had exposed us to.

All throughout my life, I have faced criminals. I have stood with them on the very threshold of death and I prided myself that I had come out unharmed.

But, the ego-driven fool that I am, I never noticed my friend, companion, chronicler, who stood alongside with me and never ever let go of me. My Watson.

As Rogers came and faced me, I looked up at him and made my second terrible mistake. I let him see the fear in his eyes.

His smile widened and he stepped forward, keeping his gun at Watson's head and yanked him to his feet. I gave a cry of rage, seeing Watson stagger against that…_fiend_ but my cry seemed to have made the situation worse. Roger's eyes gleamed.

"Looks like I found yer weakness, Masser Holmes."

I stared at him, hoping and praying to a God I did not believe in, that he was bluffing with me.

It was a hope promptly shattered when Watson crumpled against a wall from the force of his blow.

"Watson!"

I had jumped to my feet and started toward my dearest friend, when I was stopped short by a bullet, which just missed my friend, smashing against the wall.

"You know what we want, Masser Holmes."

I willed to keep myself to keep calm. Watson would need me cool and collected. I knew very well what he wanted. The pile of letters weighed in my pocket like a burden.

"I have not the slightest idea what you mean."

Oh, but I did, I did very well. The real letters were with Scotland Yard now. The counterfeit letters which I had come to place lay in my pocket. In a flash I remembered; I had not told Lestrade of my little excursion; he would not know where I am.

My thoughts were arrested when Rogers strode forward and my heart leapt in my mouth when he placed the gun squarely on my friend's head, who even then was faintly stirring. His voice, when he spoke, was filled with menace.

"Hand over the letter an' nobody gets hurt."

How I cursed my foolishness then, my egotistical belief and above all my _pride _that had gotten Watson into this mess.

I reached into my pocket, fingering the crisp paper of the letters that had started this whole business. But even as I drew it out, I heard Watson's voice.

"No, Holmes!"

I raised my eyes to find my friend struggling in the grip of Roger. Even as I looked up, I saw Roger twist his hand, making him cry out in pain.

"Don't!"

Roger's stopped and looked at me, with that terrible murderous triumph in his eyes. I felt myself turn cold. That look boded no good.

"I'm waiting, Masser Holmes"

"Don't you dare give it to them!"

I looked up in surprise at Watson, whose struggles had still not ceased. His glare at me was formidable.

"Don't you dare give up on my account, Holmes!"

I could feel myself shaking all over. Even though he was in this dire situation because of me, he had suffered a bullet wound because of me, he was in the grips of a man who could kill him without a moments hesitation _because of me_; he still did not give up or abandon me!

What had I done to deserve this friendship and loyalty?

"Watson…" I said my voice half-choked with emotion but froze as Rogers turned his menacing glance at me again. I read danger in that look and knew I had to do something.

Watson did not know that the letters I was carrying were fake. I had not told him of yet, a fact I now regretted. I had thought that by the time Rogers would read these letters, Watson and I would be out of danger. I had not counted on this.

But this was no time to hesitate. The main thing was to get Watson out safely. As long as Rogers did not look through the papers carefully or systematically, my bluff was safe. I had faked the letters well enough to pass a superficial glance, not a concentrated one.

Drawing in my breath, I pulled out the bindle of letters from my pocket, and ignoring Watson's cry of horror, walked up to Rogers and handed it to him. His face twisted in a grin of triumph and he let go of Watson who collapsed on the floor with a painful gasp. Rogers smirked at both of us, but I had already noticed Watson's rather worrying short gasps and the way his chest rose and fell fast. _Too _fast.

Rogers noticed my look and grinning detestably said, "Yup, Masser Holmes. He's sick alright. Noticed it the moment I 'ad him pinned up. Was wheezing lik' an ol' horse." He cocked his head at me. "You don' take care of yer friends, Masser Holmes? 'E could be coming down with pneumonia."

I turned white with horror at the realization. I turned and looked at Watson. His face was contorted with pain and he was clutching his side, gasping softly. I noticed his face was wet with perspiration, and a tell tale flush was creeping up his face.

"Dear Lord" I gasped as I took in my friend's situation. Not caring that Rogers might shoot me I quickly knelt by Watson's side and placed my hand on his forehead. I drew it back with a gasp of alarm.

Watson was burning with a fever so high that I could almost feel the heat emanate from him. It frightened me that he had hidden it from me so long.

"Oh God." I muttered, laying my hand on his pulse to find it racing "Oh Dear God".

Watson stirred, perhaps from my words. He looked up at me, with half opened eyes, and then smiled.

I was absolutely and completely taken aback.

Watson's smile was so pure and…_forgiving_ that I heard myself choke back a sob. He was burning with fever, he could…he could be _dying_, yet he still had the amnesty to smile at me, the man responsible for all of this!

What was I compared to Watson?

He was still smiling at me. "What is the matter, Holmes?"

I felt a shudder run through me at his hoarse and forced voice. He was in so much pain, I could not bear it.

Turning to face Rogers, I said in as commanding a voice as I could muster, "Get him out of here."

"And who made yeh the big man here, Masser Holmes?"

I ground my teeth audibly. "He is ill and injured and he needs care" I snapped "You must have _some_ humanity in you to help an ill man."

Rogers looked at me, then Watson as if he was considering.

"I have already given the letters to you" I continued "Atleast let Watson go. I will stay on to enjoy your…hospitality as long as you want."

From behind me I heard Watson's feeble protest, but I ignored it. I would not risk his life anymore.

Rogers seemed to have come to a decision. He snapped his finger and an old man appeared at his side. Rogers thrust the letters at him.

"Here, check 'em."

I watched breathlessly as the man rifled through the letters. But to my relief he looked up, and nodding at Rogers, said, "Seems okay."

I slumped back against the wall and took a much needed breath of relief. Beside me, Watson's labored breathing continued.

Rogers slowly took the letters from the man and I saw him run his eyes over them. But I cared naught. Rogers had been fooled, Watson would get out of here safely and I-

There was a bang and I opened my eyes to see Rogers with his gun out and the old man lying in a pool of his blood on the ground.

I sat bolt upright.

Rogers let out his breath in a small hiss. "What kind of idiot are yeh!" he yelled at the corpse on the floor, while his men looked on, unmoved. "Can't yeh tell the difference between a fake and a real!"

My breath caught in my chest. He had figured it out.

Rogers turned to face me, madness and anger burning in his eyes. He stalked up to me, and pulled me up by my collar and glared into my eyes.

"Thought yeh'd cheat me, eh Masser Holmes?" His word were dark and cold. I tried to make myself look as fearful as possible while all the while aware of Watson's vulnerability beside me.

"I'll make yeh pay, Masser Holmes. Nobody cheats frank Rogers and gets away with it. _Nobody!_"

The next minute I felt a heavy fist connecting with my cheek and I crumpled under the sheer shock of it. But even as I fell, I heard a voice.

"Don't you dare touch him!"

Watson? What was Wat-?

With a sickening realization, I understood what was happening. Forcing my eyes to open, I saw the blurred figure of my friend, standing protectively in front of me, and even more horrifying, a dark figure raising an iron rod over his head.

"No!"

I don't know when the words shot from my lips. But as I dived towards the figure I felt something heavy crash onto my shoulder. I saw the iron rod smash onto Watson and my last lucid memory was of a police whistle….


	2. Chapter 2

When I could at last get my eyes to open, the amalgamation of sounds surrounding me completely deafened me. I closed my eyes tightly again, wishing with all my might that the sounds would just _go away_ and leave me to die in peace….

I felt a hand grip my shoulder and turn me over. Icy shock flowed through me as I felt freezing water being splashed on my face. I struggled against the grip, crying out in protest as I did so.

"It's alright, Mr. Holmes, it's alright! Its Hunter here, you remember me? Mr. Holmes!"

The familiar voice brought me out of my illness. I opened my eyes once again, gasping and blinking furiously at the bright light that was suddenly shown at my eyeballs.

"Its alright, It's alright! Mr. Lestrade, he's woken up! Mr. Lestrade!"

I heard pounding feet which echoed uncomfortably in my head and a sharp, clipped voice that spoke overhead.

"Well, Hunter, how is he?"

"He seems fine now, sir. I thought he was going to be sick earlier but he seems to have pulled through."

More shuffling of feet which echoed confusedly in my befuddled brain.

"How is the Doctor, sir?"

Doctor? That's odd, that name seemed to recall something to my mind. I struggled to identify the coherent thoughts in my mind, but the fog surrounding it seemed too dense…

There was a heavy sigh from overhead.

"It's not very good with him, I'm afraid, Hunter."

"Indeed, sir?"

"Yes. He appears to have high level pneumonia and, coupled with that wound he received, and that bastard hit him with a rod too…well it doesn't look good at all."

"Pneumonia? How'd he get that? How come Mr. Holmes brought him along then?"

There was a heavy snort from above.

"Oh I'm sure Mr. Holmes never even _noticed_ that he was sick. He's too engrossed in his pretty theories to even check on his best-heavens, only- friend. And Dr. Watson is too kind a gentleman to…"

I sat bolt upright, jolting the two men sitting next to me straight off their seats.

"Mr. Holmes! Dear God, don't give us a fright like that! Are you feeling better?"

But I completely ignored Lestrade's words, kindly though they were meant. I stared straight ahead, the thick fogs of my brain slowly clearing.

Watson…Frank Rogers….the letters….the bullet wound….Watson was hurt, he was bleeding…he was ill…

Then realization hit me hard.

He was _dying_.

I felt sick to my very stomach and doubled over. Instantly two pairs of hands grabbed me and I heard Hunter's panic stricken voice.

"Mr. Holmes! Are you alright, sir? Can you hear me?"

"Doesn't look right, Hunter. He is going to be sick. We better…"

"Watson" I whispered, and the two men around me stiffened. "Where is he?"

From the corner of my eye, I saw Lestrade glance at Hunter, and then look back at me. When he spoke, his voice was soft and gentle.

"It's quite alright, Mr. Holmes, everything is fine. You just rest for a while and we'll…"

"_Where is he?_

Lestrade looked even more uncomfortable as I straightened myself to my full height and looked at him straight in the eye.

"You see, Mr. Holmes, the doctor…well, he's in a bad way now, what with all the injuries and the fact that he is suffering from pneumonia and, well…we're not…"

His voice trailed away as he saw the cold look I was giving him. It told him very clearly I was not the least interested in his babblings and he should just tell me what I want to know.

He read all this in my look and, silently moving to the side, pointed to a group of men standing near a tall tree.

"Over there. Dr. Oakshott is with him."

Without a word, I swing my legs over the camp bed on which I had been resting and staggered to my feet. Lestrade gripped my arm and helped me to my feet but I shook him off impatiently and hurried as fast as I could towards the small group I could see. As I did, some small corner of my brain registered the storehouse in the background and I remember vaguely thinking that it could not have been very long since we had been rescued.

I spotted Dr. Oakshott as soon as I neared the tree. My footsteps perhaps alerted him and he turned around, registering surprise at my appearance.

"Mr. Holmes, what are you doing? Go and lie down. You've just recovered from a concussion; you shouldn't be moving around!" He looks accursedly at Lestrade, who was behind me. "How could you let him get up?!"

Lestrade shuffled his feet awkwardly, looking extremely guilty. I, however, pushed past Oakshott and two others who I briefly recognized as doctors from Harley Street, and quickly knelt by the man before me.

I hope never to see such a sight ever again. Especially not with Watson.

He was very pale, so pale that it frightened me. A blood soaked bandage was tied around his head and there was a dark, ugly welt on his neck. His breathing was hoarse and irregular and his face was flushed. His side was bandaged and the blood had soaked through the wound.

I felt nauseous.

My vision swam before my eyes and I staggered against the tree trunk. Immediately a pair of hands gripped me and I felt myself being lowered on the ground.

"Get him some water. Now."

Oakshott's sharp command was obeyed instantly and I soon felt somebody tilting my head and forcing some water down my throat. I gasped and choked but the liquid was a life saver.

The world came into sharp focus and Oakshott's white and strained face came into view.

"How are you feeling now?"

I sat up as carefully as I could, with Oakshott gripping my arm. But I ignored his question and instead took the hand of my injured friend.

It was cold.

I turned towards Oakshott who answered my unasked question.

"Yes, he's got pneumonia alright. In a very bad way too." He hesitated and looked at me. When he spoke, his voice was soft.

"He might not make it."

I stared at him.

"No."

"Mr. Holmes, I'm-I'm…sorry…but there's nothing we can do in here, there is no way to get him to a hospital, no way to treat him…

"Then find a way! Find some transport! You're doctors aren't you?! Fix him!"

My voice by now had risen in volume and I was shaking from head to foot. Oakshott looked even whiter.

These…these…_doctors_…were just going to let Watson die. They could not…they would not…

I felt a sob build itself inside me. How could this be happening?

A hand gripped my shoulder. From the harsh breathing above me, I deduced it to be Lestrade.

"We've got the Scotland Yard transportation. I suppose…"

I looked up so quickly that Lestrade jolted back.

"You have transportation! And you kept quiet all this while?! For God's sake, man!"

Lestrade looked shocked, and even a little frightened, by my outburst. Oakshott put a hand on my arm.

"Mr. Holmes, please calm yourself."

"Calm myself? Calm myself! My friend is lying here, half dead and you are refusing to treat him and you expect me to calm myself!"

"We are not refusing to treat Dr. Watson, Mr. Holmes. We just don't have the materials. But however…" he glanced at Lestrade, who nodded "We have the official vehicle now, so we may get him to the nearest hospital."

I lowered my head, frantically trying to clear my jumbled thoughts. I was aware that I had never lost my composure this badly before and this unnerved me for a moment.

"Alright, gentlemen. Do what you will."

On looking up, I noted that Lestrade looked a bit relieved at my calm tone and that Oakshott had visibly relaxed. They both gripped me by the arm and helped me rise to my feet. Behind me, I heard Watson utter a moan as several men raised him.

"Carefully!" snapped Oakshott from behind me.

I closed my eyes, willing to block out Watson's injuries. But guilt flowed through me as I thought of my own density in not noticing Watson's illness.

Just a few more hours Watson. Just hold on a little longer. I won't let you die, this I swear.

I just hope to God that I can.

_Liked it? Then please review! Actually this was supposed to be the last chapter but somehow I think there is going to be one more. If you don't review I won't update! (__Snicker_

_Oh, and apologies to VHunter07 on the God mistake in the first chapter. I guess I need to read the canon more often, huh? _


	3. Chapter 3

That following night was the most hellish night I had ever experienced.

We had moved Watson to a hospital at a distance of a good six miles from the region of our location. It was the only hospital in the area and what made it _not_ notable was the complete lack of doctors or staff. About a dozen nurses were present and none of them were well trained.

I felt my entire hope drop at the very sight of the hospital.

But Oakshott was not one to give up. He instantly cleared out a clean dorm for Watson and issued orders regarding his illness. Within the hour, I was sitting at Watson's side while several doctors monitored him.

This hospital smelled musty, and, to my over imaginative mind, of death and blood. No matter that it hasn't been used since the last War, I was loath to imagine Watson's dying here.

_No, don't think about that, Watson's going to be fine, just fine…_

I closed my eyes and put my fingers on my forehead, in an effort to calm myself. Since my childhood, my mind and imagination, though a brilliant one often accorded me several nervous breakdowns. In the most extreme situations, my mind refused to function properly.

Suddenly, I felt one of Oakshott's strong grips on my shoulder. Looking up, I saw him looking down at me, his face strained.

Something was wrong.

I gripped Oakshott by the arms. "What is it?"I fairly shouted up to him. His expression, and his disposition, plainly terrified me.

He took a long, shuddering breath. "I've just been in contact with the hospital administration." he said "And they do not have the particular medication we need for him."

I still looked at him, my mind not fully comprehending what he was saying. "So? You can transport it, can you not?" I cried. Why he was so worried over a simple case of transport-

My breath caught in my chest.

I clutched Oakshott tighter. "Can't you transport it?"My voice did not sound like mine anymore.

He shook his head bitterly. "It will get here by tomorrow morning." He said "But by then-…"he gestured angrily at Watson's prostrate form.

I collapsed on my seat and buried my face in my hands. This situation was spinning wildly out of my control. I was not aware that a sob had escaped me until I felt Oakshott grip me by the shoulders.

"Holmes" His voice was low and urgent "You cannot give up now. You _must_ not give up now. Dr. Watson is relying on your strength and you, _we_, cannot fail him. He is a good man and I rather see him in this life then the next."

I raised my eyes and looked at Oakshott. He nodded seriously at me. "We have to keep him alive." He said very firmly "Till tomorrow, at the very least. I can still save him. Have faith in my abilities."

For not the first time, I felt awed by his power and will. Watson has written many times of my own iron will, but I feel that it is nothing compared t that of the man standing in front of me.

I looked back at Watson, lying at the bed beside me. He had always assisted me and stood by me till the very mouth of hell and had dragged me back. He was the one unchanging aspect in my life, and in many a case I had been comforted by the fact that my Boswell was with me.

How could I give up on him now?

I stood up and faced Oakshott. He saw the resolve in my eyes, and nodding approvingly, said "Good man. We shall need you to help us out. Watson would have been proud."

_Yes, _I thought, _He would have indeed._

……………………………………………………………..

I sat beside Watson's bed, breathing nervously. More than twelve hours had passed since our horrifying adventure. My one hand clenched Watson's own and the other was clenched in absolute agony. I did not know how Watson was feeling but I was in a far deeper hell than him.

In the past few hours Oakshott had issued instructions regarding Watson. He had tried to make him as comfortable as possible but I was aware of Watson's incredibly shallow breathing and hoarse gasps. I tightened my fingers around his hand as another spasm rocked his body. Oh, please God, let me not know this agony anymore.

"Holmes?"

A whisper, so soft that I almost missed it, sent my head spiraling around to look at my friend. His eyes were half-open, his lips parted but he was undeniably conscious.

"Watson!" I breathed, quickly moving closer. I could see by his heavy breathing and hacking coughs that the disease was well on its way.

His unfocused eyes, fixed onto mine.

"H'lmes, is th't you?" his voice was slurred.

"Yes, it is me, my dear fellow. Now relax and don't try to move or talk."

"W-what h'ppned?"

"You have been very ill, Doctor, and severely wounded and I would prefer it if you did not move so much." My sternness shook a little as I recalled our adventure and how I had nearly had him killed.

"How long has it been…how came we…here?"

"It's been nearly twelve hours and Lestrade rescued us."

"Les-trade? But how did he…"

I gave a wry smile. "It seems as if he is not as stupid as he looks."

Watson gave what may have been a half hearted nod of agreement but suddenly subsided into a fit of coughs. I placed my hand on his forehead and was alarmed by how high his temperature had risen.

"Watson? Watson, can you hear me?"

His coughs had finally subsided and he looked at me with heavy lidded eyes.

"Is it..?"

I answered his unasked question. "Yes, it is pneumonia. Why, in God's name," I cried, finally getting a chance to release my pent up emotion "didn't you tell me? I wouldn't have brought you along!"

He coughed slightly again. "You were walking into a dangerous place."He looked at me wryly "You hardly ever remember matters regarding your very own safety."

"So you decided to forget that you had pneumonia and come along?!"

"I did not want to make you worry."

"Make me worry?! And now you are lying before me, half dead!"

"It's not that bad." He coughed again and looked at me. "Something tells me that the other side will be worth discovering."

"Don't talk like that." I was suddenly insanely angry and very afraid. "Don't you dare say that Watson. Don't you dare."

He smiled at me briefly and then slowly drifted off to sleep. And I sat there, trying to block out the horrible finality of my friend's tone and not think of his terrible self sacrifice.

It would have continued this way if I hadn't noticed that his breathing had become irregularly fast and that his cheeks were flushed. A few extra coughs told me that something was wrong.

"Watson!"

I clambered to my feet and quickly took his pulse. It was racing and he was moaning and fidgeting in his sleep.

"Holmes…"

"I'm right here, old fellow."I gasped. "I'm here, don't worry."

"Holmes…don't leave…"

I grasped his trembling hands. "I'm not going anywhere." I whispered. "I'm right here."

"So tired…"

Just when I thought that the worst had passed Watson's breathing increased apace and he started to flail around.

"No…No…Get away…Get away!"

"It's me!" I shouted, "For God's sake, Watson, it's me! Holmes!"

He collapsed back onto his bed, trembling with high fever. I bent over him, hoping, praying…

_Please God no, not him, please not him…_

I clutched hold of his now limp hands. They were so cold that I was frightened.

"Watson." I whispered.

Then the words tumbled out of me.

"Don't you dare give up now, Doctor!" I had no idea where they were coming from but they kept coming. "Don't you dare give up on me. I order you to stay alive until tomorrow, do you hear me? I know you can, so I absolutely forbid you to die tonight. Don't you dare disobey me, Watson. You have to stay alive, Atleast until tomorrow. Tomorrow you are free to do whatever you wish, when you wish, where you wish, but you will live until then, damn you. Say you will! Please Watson!"

I don't know whether he heard me, through all that wild flow of emotion. But I felt his hand tighten around mine and saw a bit of color return to his cheeks. I felt my body sag against the bedpost and slowly fell into a troubled sleep knowing that my dearest friend for now at least, had not given up the battle.

_My god, this is getting bigger than I expected. Well, f Holmes is bit OOC in this I do beg your pardon, it wasn't my intention I can assure you. My thanks to all those who reviewed. I hope this fits into your expectations. The next chapter is going to be the last one. (I hope)_


	4. Chapter 4

_I am standing on a road. I can recognize it; why it's Baker Street. Hello, there's Mrs. Hudson and there…there is Watson. He looks up and smiles at me. Good old fellow. __Always there when I need him._

"Holmes…"

_I think somebody is calling me but then again, there's nobody here. __Must be my imagination.__ Watson's calling me; my, he looks excited. Why is he taking his gun? Of course, we're going hunting. But who are we hunting? Oh, that's right; Killer Evans._

"Holmes…"

_This voice is getting irritating now. Evans is here, we've outwitted him. The __game's__ up, Evans! But why is he leering like that? Haven't I beaten him?_

"Holmes, can you…"

_That voice is fading away, but I want to hear it again. Something is wrong, why is Evans raising his gun? And he is shooting! Who is he shooting?_

"…hear me?"

_No. no, he has hit Watson. That is not right, he can't have hit Watson. But wait, where is Watson? Why can't I see him? Ah, there he is. Are you alright, my dear fellow? You haven't hurt yourself, right?_

"Holmes!"

_Dear God, Watson isn't moving. He isn't breathing. Evans is putting the gun to my head. Oh God…_

"Holmes, wake up!"

I jolted from my nightmare, and looked around breathing deeply. A blurred figure presented itself at the edge of my vision. A few moments later, it cleared away to reveal Watson.

I blinked and sat up.

"Watson?"My voice was hoarse and unsteady as I looked upon my dearest friend.

Watson smiled at me. "Yes, my dear fellow, it is me."

The truth of the reality hit me. I gripped him by the arm and felt the muscle beneath.

"Dear God. Watson."

My poor friend apparently took the act of me slumping back onto the pillow as that of extreme exhaustion, not relief. So he started from the bed with a cry of surprise and when I opened my eyes I found a pair of terrified hazel eyes looking down at me.

My dear Watson. Always worrying about others before him.

Then I noticed that he was standing over my bed, wrapped in his dressing gown and bare footed. In an instant, I was out of my bed pushing my protesting friend into his bed.

"Holmes! Really this is ridiculous, I am fine."

"No you are not and that is a _ridiculous _declaration coming from a doctor who had pneumonia just a few hours ago."

"Actually Holmes, it's been almost twenty-four hours."

I stopped in the act of tucking his blanket around him and looked t him in amazement.

"_Twenty-four _hours? No, no, my dear Watson, you must be joking."

"I assure you, I am not. Go and look out of the window if you don't believe me."

I rose and approached the broad window at the other end. The hills around us were cloaked in darkness and only the occasional whistle told me that Lestrade's men were still here.

"I don't suppose it can be the night of the same day?"

"No Holmes. Oakshott was here until a few hours ago. I believe he had to take care of some business in London. You had not stirred since morning so we thought it better not to disturb you." His smile became troubled "You must have been very tired, my dear fellow."

I smiled back to him, and if truth be told, I had been very tired indeed. Watson's illness had affected my already sleep deprived mind which had spent nearly two sleepless days in tracking Frank Rogers. No wonder I fell asleep.

I looked at Watson and winced to see how pale and tired he looked. There were black bags under his eyes and his skin looked translucent. He clearly did not have a restful night even after I fell asleep.

I strode over to him and gently pushed tucked the covers around him. "Go to sleep, Watson." I said, gently. "Do not worry about me."

He smiled briefly at me and sank back into his pillows, his eyelids already closing. I sat beside him, surveying him and berating myself for getting him into this confounded position.

"Don't blame yourself Holmes."

I started and looked at Watson. He smiled at me from under closed eyelids.

"How can I not?! It is my fault that you are like this!"

"Holmes we have been friends for a long time and still you don't know this much."

"What?"

My friend placed his hand on my arm and said in a soft voice "Holmes, I would never let you go to a dangerous situation alone. I'll always go with you. In sickness or in health."

I smiled at my friend, who had now passed on to the realms of Morpheus.

_I too, my dear Watson. I too._


End file.
